Magic Markers
by Magic Mind
Summary: Harry and Draco have fun with markers...But who will discover what the boys are writing? And where are they writing it? Harry/Draco. SLASH. COMPLETE.


_Author's Note: _

_This __was floating around on my hard drive and I thought I'd post it here. The concept was inspired by a popslash fic called The Quiet Room by Beth (if you like popslash at all, i highly recommend it). _

_Enjoy!_

***

"Draco! Come on!" Harry screamed from his place on the bed, writhing and squirming like a worm on a hook.

Draco, who was currently straddling him, his knees on either side of Harry's hips, looked like a child in a candy store. His blue-gray eyes twinkled, wide with the image of Harry naked and begging before him. He stretched his arm across the bed and retrieved his wand from the nightstand.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"I," Draco replied in his trademark drawl, "am having fun."

"Well I'm not! You've got me here--rock hard, I might add--" Harry thrust his hips up against Draco to prove his point, "and you suddenly want to do a bloody spell!"

Draco smiled serenely, in stark contrast to the condition of his lower regions, and said, "You curse a lot when you're horny."

"I curse when I'm horny and my boyfriend won't give me what I want!" Harry told him fiercely. He grabbed Draco's waist in an attempt to force him to reciprocate the grinding movements of his hips.

"No no no..." Draco said through that calm smile and wagging a finger at Harry, "You can't make me do what you want me to." He raised his wand and said, "Guess I'll have to punish you."

For a split second, Harry thought Draco would hex him, he looked so devilishly mischievous. But no incantation was spoken. Only a tiny shimmer of green light issued out of Draco wand and landed directly on Harry stomach, arching neatly above his navel.

"What the hell?" Harry asked softly, more to himself than the boy on top of him. He craned his neck up and off the bed to look down at the letters on his skin.

**Property of Draco Malfoy**

Harry didn't know whether to snatch Draco's wand and remove it or kiss him.

Draco leaned down, his mouth next to Harry's ear and whispered with a smile that was decidedly more seductive, "Mine."

*******

"Merlin, Snape's essay is going to be tough. Four feet of parchment! Is he out of his Dark-Art's-loving mind?!" Ron exclaimed as he, Harry and Hermione walked into the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning.

"I know. And it's due in three days!" Harry agreed indignantly as he took a seat next to Hermione at the Gryffindor table.

"While I was researching it last night, every book I read had absolutely _no_ information on the medicinal properties of…Harry? What's that on your stomach?" Hermione asked, looking pointedly at Harry's waist.

He realized that something bright green was peeking out of the hem of his shirt. He raised it carelessly and peered down at the turn-up of the shirt, thinking it was a piece of fuzz to be picked off.

He promptly shoved it down again.

He looked up, trying to see if anyone had noticed the name stamped across his skin. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"What was that? It almost looked like words…"

"Oh, er, nothing." Harry stammered and hurriedly took a piece of toast from the plate in front of him. "Just a bit of ink, I guess. I, uh, dropped my ink well last night. I think I got some on myself, that's all."

"On your _stomach_?" Ron asked.

_Great timing, Ron. Pick now to start being logical._

"Well, I was sort of lounging while I wrote…" Harry said lamely.

Hermione shook her head in an I-don't-want-to-know fashion.

Harry made an attempt to change the subject. "So…um…who do you reckon'll win the next Quidditch match?"

Ron took to this new topic like a fish to water, and Harry was gratefully relieved. Only half listening to what his best friend was saying, he reached across the table to scoop some marmalade onto his knife. Spreading it casually over his toast, he glanced at the Slytherin table. Silvery sapphire eyes met his knowingly.

Their owner shook his head and laughed.

*******

"Hermione saw it." Harry said without preamble when he entered Draco's room that night.

Draco looked up from his desk, a colorful ostrich feather quill poised in his hand. "Saw what?" he asked innocently.

Harry sighed in a long-suffering way and raised his shirt to his nipples.

"_Oh_, that." Draco replied in mock-realization. He dipped his quill in an ink well on his desk and continued writing with a smirk. "Well…it's your fault, you and your too-short shirt."

Draco raised his eyes from the parchment in front of him again when he didn't hear Harry's response.

A pair of long arms wrapped around him from behind and encircled his shoulders. "But you're the one who put that mark there in the first place…"

Draco turned his head and found himself dangerously close to Harry's lips. _Oh, how soft they look… _ "Do you…" _I bet they taste even better._ "…want me to…" _So red and swollen wrapped around my-stop that! _"take it off?"

Harry smiled cheekily, which did nothing to stem Draco's interior monologue (_Merlin, that smile!_) and said, "Not if I can mark you too."

In answer, Draco pressed his lips against Harry's, which was rather awkward at first, as Harry was grinning at the time.

Still joined at the mouth, Draco stood up and walked them to the bed. They fell onto it, kissing madly. Draco was lost in the feeling of Harry's lips gliding effortlessly against his. His mind was buzzing in an altogether pleasant way as he felt Harry's tongue slip next to his and dance gracefully. And just as his hands found their way to Harry's tie, trying to loosen it, Draco found his back pressed against the bed.

Harry stared down at him with a mixture of lust and amusement on his face. He had Draco pinned in exactly the same manner that he himself was pinned the next before, straddling his waist.

"Now it's my turn." He whispered impishly.

Working with all the dexterity of a Seeker of seven years, Harry relaxed Draco's tie and unbuttoned his shirt in record time. Draco summoned all his abdominal muscles and lifted his torso from the bed, shrugging the clothes off as Harry ran his hands smoothly across his chest. His alabaster skin positively glowed with want when one of his nipples was pinched in between Harry's thumb and forefinger. It quickly turned into a hard peak, shortly followed by the other.

"Mmmm…" Draco moaned softly. He eased back onto the bed, his head falling by chance onto a pillow encased in silk.

Harry, being the sort of Harry he was, decided to inflict the same pleasurable torture Draco had inflicted upon him yesterday. He bent forward and kissed the patch of skin below Draco's ear and adjacent to his jaw. Draco shivered. Harry then licked him.

"_Harry_…"

The Gryffindor had a streak of teasing hidden up his sleeve to rival that of his Slytherin counterpart. He blew copious amounts of warm breath into Draco's ear and whispered, "Yes, love?"

"You're wearing…too much…"

Harry took a nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it tantalizingly. "Perhaps you could help me with that."

Draco didn't need telling twice. He almost took a button off Harry's shirt while he was removing it. A wide expanse of bronze flesh was now open to him. He promptly tweaked a nipple, earning a gasp from Harry, who had been lapping languidly at the hollow between his collarbones. Just as Draco was working at his other nipple, Harry got an idea for what to inscribe on Draco's skin. He took out his wand, hidden skillfully in the waistband of his trousers, and raised it over Draco.

"What are you going to write?" he asked warily.

"See for yourself." Harry replied. Glittering crimson script ran vertically from Draco's navel to his neck:

**Gryffindor's Lion**

"You can't be serious."

Harry looked at him and beamed.

*******

Over the next week, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy grew steadily more…artistic. Every night inside Draco's room in the Slytherin dungeons, they added more and more colorful expressions. It was a wonder the school wasn't bustling with gossip about the words on Gryffindor and Slytherin's Quidditch captain's body parts.

On the skin dusted with fine hairs below his belly button, Draco was branded with:

**Who could only the Bloody Baron control?**

and across the small of Harry's back was:

**Peeves**

The inside of Draco's wrist read:

**You stole the Remembrall and my heart.**

With this on Harry's shoulder blades:

**You only got one back.**

The spaces in between Draco's fingers bore these four letters:

**L O V E**

And the arch of Harry's foot carried:

**Always**

*******

"Mr. Potter! Why is your essay only three feet ten inches long? I specifically requested four feet of parchment on the uses, medicinal properties, inventor, brewing methods, and origin of the Enchanted-Inscription Erasing potion." Severus Snape called from his desk in the front of his Potions classroom.

"Sorry, sir." Harry mumbled. "Perhaps you could let it slip? Just this once?"

Snape presently did something he had never done in Harry's presence before: he laughed, long and loud. The entire class (even the Slytherins) looked upon their professor with amazement and shock. Snape was often sardonically amused with Harry Potter, but he never did more than leer at him.

"'Let it slip'!" barked Snape amidst his cackles. "'Let it slip' indeed!"

Harry felt his cheeks burst into flame with embarrassment. It was a long shot, of course, to ask Snape for leniency, but this was overkill. Snape was positively shrieking with glee, clutching his sides like he belonged in Azkaban.

Several other students began to giggle along with him. Giggles turned to chortles. Chortles developed into guffaws. Guffaws became full-out hysterics. Even Hermione and Ron were laughing before the end.

Snape took several deep breaths to compose himself and said, "See me after class, Potter."

The chuckles soon subsided.

The class passed slowly after that. Snape began a lesson over monkshood, wormwood and the various catastrophes that would ensue from their mixture. On the whole, Harry thought Snape's approach to teaching was immensely funnier than his own request for a respite.

Just as he was imagining the next phrase he would add to Draco's hip, Snape called out, "Class dismissed."

Harry made great work of putting away his quill and parchment as the students issued out of the dungeon, delaying the moment he would have to *****gulp*** **_converse_ with Snape. "You two go on ahead," he told Hermione and Ron, "I'll catch you up."

They nodded and turned to leave.

Only Snape, Harry, and…Draco were left. The blond seemed to be having a time closing his bag whist clutching his bottle of ink and incidentally dropped it. Harry was glad to see him kneel down on all fours and clean it in the Muggle way, thus remaining in the room with him.

"Draco, what are you doing?" asked the potions master, staring at the blond hair that showed above one of the desks.

Up popped Draco's head and with it came the all-too-casual, "Dropped my ink, sir."

Snape's black eyes lingered on him, his mouth fixed in a disbelieving smirk. "Very well."

"Professor?" asked Harry, approaching the teacher's desk and dumping his bag on the floor. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Potter." Snape replied, his voice oily. He picked up a quill lying in front of him and twirled it nonchalantly in his hand. "Why did you think it an unworthy task of The Great Harry Potter to complete his potions essay?"

Nearby, a chuckle remarkably like Draco's sounded.

"I didn't think it unworthy of me!" Harry protested.

"Why, then, did you not complete it?"

"I did complete it! Three feet ten inches was the best I could do!"

"Hmmm…" paused Snape. "Well, Potter, perhaps you should concentrate more on your length."

A laugh that was undeniably Draco's was heard from the back of the classroom.

"Yes, sir." Harry replied with all the spite he could muster. He pulled his bag off the stone floor with his right hand and raised its strap over his head onto his left shoulder. The action raised his t-shirt an inch or two, revealing emerald words.

"And Potter?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"What's that on your stomach?"


End file.
